‘Liz will bide with you in the meantime,’ said Walter, affecting a cheerfulness he did not feel.  ’I have been asking her to come and be my housekeeper, but she won’t promise in the meantime.’

‘Oh, she’ll be fine here the noo,’ answered the little seamstress, with a significance which did not convey anything to them, though it meant something to her.  She was thinking as she spoke of the probable result of the letter she had just carried to the post, and which would be delivered at Bourhill in the morning.  She was not mistaken in her calculations regarding it; for next morning, between eleven and twelve, when the two were sitting by the fire keeping up a rather disjointed conversation, during which Liz had exhibited distinct signs of restlessness, a light, quick knock came to the door.

‘That’s her!’ cried Teen, springing up, her sallow face all aglow.  ’I kent she wad come; yes, it’s jist her.’

Liz sat up, her whole demeanour defiant, her face wearing its most ungracious look.

She had not the remotest idea who was meant by ‘her,’ and it is certain that had there been any other means of exit than the door in the building, she would have taken herself off there and then.  What was her astonishment to behold presently a lissom, graceful figure and a sweet face, which seemed familiar, though she could not for the moment believe that they really pertained to Gladys Graham.  And the face wore such a lovely look of gladness and wonder and sorrow all mingled, that Liz was struck dumb.

’Oh, Lizzie, I am so glad to see you.  How could you stay away so long, when you must have known we were all so anxious about you?  But we will forgive you quite, now that you have come back.’

She took the unwilling hand of Walter’s sister in her firm, warm clasp, and, bending forward, kissed her, as she had done once before, on the brow.  Then the face of Liz became a dusky red, and she started back, saying hoarsely,—­

’Don’t!  Never dae that again.  Oh, my God, if ye kent, ye wadna let yer eyes licht on me, far less that.’

’I know that we are very glad to see you again, and that you look very ill, dear Lizzie,’ said Gladys, her voice tremulous with her deep compassion; ’and I have come to take you away to Bourhill.  Here is somebody quite ready, I think, to go.’

She turned with a smile to the little seamstress, whose face still wore that intense, glorified look.

‘Bourhill?’ repeated Liz.  ‘Where’s that?’

‘That’s my home now,’ said Gladys gleefully.  ’See what you have missed, being away so long.  Has Teen not told you of all its glories?  I thought she was so enthusiastic over it, she could not hold her tongue.  Never mind, you shall soon see it for yourself.’

‘I’m very much obleeged to ye, but I’m no’ comin’,’ said Liz, with the same firmness which had set aside Walter’s scheme concerning her.

‘Why not?  Nobody ever refuses me anything,’ Gladys said.